


Sharper

by sophinisba



Series: Some things Freya did before she met Merlin [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Gender Issues, Hair, Knifeplay, Masturbation, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Other, POV Child, Puberty, Shaving, Solo Kink, Water, underage solo kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-22
Updated: 2014-02-22
Packaged: 2018-01-13 10:57:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1223701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophinisba/pseuds/sophinisba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As a young girl, Freya learns to cut her own hair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sharper

**Author's Note:**

> For the "shaving/depilation" square on my 2013 kink_bingo card. Written in August 2013 and intended as part of a solo kink bingo that may or may not get finished someday.

When Freya’s first little brother was born he came out bald, like an old man. Freya thought he’d always be wrinkled and ugly, but her mother explained that children just need time to grow into themselves.

Tim was starting to look almost like a normal child, in Freya’s eyes at least, when Mother clicked her tongue and told Freya to run to Britta’s house to borrow the shears. Freya’s next job was to play with Tim and keep him entertained but calm enough that he wouldn’t jerk around while Mother held the sharp things so close to his neck. She had also to nod yes when Mother asked whether the sides looked even enough. Then she ran back to Britta’s to return the shears along with their thanks. Freya did all these things without asking why Tim’s hair should be cut in the first place, when it wasn’t nearly as long and bothersome as her own.

The next morning, as always, Freya woke before the others, even before the sun. But this was the first time she took advantage of the quiet dark in the house to do something she thought her mother would not like.

She crept out to the water and ducked her head under before she could lose her nerve, and after that she stood there shivering. She grabbed her long hair in a bunch, as if to tie it back, cut across the thick of it with the knife she’d borrowed from the kitchen, and tossed the handful in the lake. That was already better, she thought. It would not get in her face when she swam, and she’d be more like the boys who ran through the forest whenever they wanted, not like the women who worked all day. She touched the blade to the back of her neck, and the cold made her shiver deeper, a thrill so lovely that she held it steady there to keep trembling with it for a while. Then she pushed it up along the skin, cutting the hair off almost at the root. She went on trimming away until the sun came up, and though her reflection in the water wasn’t as clear as some days she could tell that it was good: shorter than her brother’s or any of the boys’, and she would be freer even than a boy. 

She ran her hand through it over and over as she walked back to the house, and it was prickly and strong and perfect.

+

“You didn’t say not to!” she shouted, even though she had known, more or less. “Why should I have long hair when he doesn’t?”

_Because you’re a girl and he’s a boy!_ was what her mother was supposed to shout back. That much was obvious, even if she pretended not to understand. But Mother’s voice was quiet, tired, almost breaking when she said, “You could have asked, Freya. If you wanted it shorter you could have asked, and I could have done it. But this… When everyone in the village already thinks I’m…”

She stopped and bit her lip and looked away, and then Freya didn’t know what to do, because it didn’t make sense to shout, _It’s not fair!_ or _I don’t want to be just like you!_ anymore. What she wanted to say, suddenly, was that she was sorry. But she couldn’t be sorry when touching the back of her head, when even seeing her own shadow on the floor made her this happy. And it wasn’t right to tell lies.

“You’re pretty, Mama.”

Mother smiled, though her face still looked pained. She held out her arms, and it was easy to walk into them.

“So are you, darling, so are you.”

Mother’s hand touched the back of her head and Freya wondered if the bristle gave Mother any of the same pleasure that it did Freya. She hoped so, but she didn’t ask. At least Mother’s hand was as gentle and warm as always.

“Did you know that everyone in the village thinks I’m lucky to have such a daring, clever little girl?” Mother said, and took a deep breath. “We’ll borrow the shears and we’ll…I’ll just even it out a little. We’ll be all right. Really, this is nothing. The thing about hair is it always grows back.”

+

It took Freya a long time to understand how doing something to herself – something that didn’t even hurt – could make her mother look so sad, but she knew she didn’t want to do it again. Her hair did grow back, and every month or so Freya let her mother trim it into the shape she thought was best, until she looked like a normal little girl again and all seemed to be forgiven. For the rest of her mother’s life Freya never cut the bulk of her hair short again.

But some months later, after she’d had her head shaped a dozen times and the shears had been returned for good, Freya came across an old knife in the cave where she and Britta were playing. She slipped it in her bag without a word, and when she was alone she sharpened it with a stone until it was sharper than the one from the kitchen.

She never shaved off more than a finger’s breadth above the hairline at the back of her neck. No one would ever know from looking at her, and if Mother felt it when she combed her daughter’s hair she never said. But Freya got to stand alone in the cool breeze that came off the water. She got to close her eyes and curl her toes as she ran the tips of two fingers over the stubbly tips of the shaved hair (nothing like the smooth limp locks that kept it out of sight and made everyone else happy).

She took to shaving that patch again sometime around the full moon, not so much because of the light, just because it was an easy way to keep track. Somehow she knew the thrill would be lessened if she did it too often. Sometimes there were rituals to attend to with the rest of the village, but that was never as interesting (even when there was magic) as the time she had to herself, with the lake and the moon and a good sharp blade.

Summers and winters passed. Tim was big enough to swim on his own and Harry had started talking and that first time Freya cut her hair was not only forgiven but very nearly forgotten by all when she first felt a few wisps of hair between her legs, right in the front where her brothers had their pricks. It was fine and soft at first, but still fascinating to catch under her fingernails, so she lay in bed and stroked herself, that hair and that skin. It felt better than when she cupped her soft new breasts or squeezed her nipples, better than when she pushed her fingers deeper between her legs or up inside the hole. It even felt better than touching the short hair at the back of her neck, and she hadn’t thought that was possible.

She let it grow for a few full moons while the summer bloomed. A few of the hairs were as long as her fingernail when she took the knife out at the full moon and felt it was warm enough to swim before dawn. To go out with a sliver of soap and rub herself thick and white, with the blood hot under her skin when she drew the blade up over her mound and the hairs slipped free into the water.

They would grow back thicker and sharper each time, and sharper was the thrill each time she caught a tip under her nail. It shot right up through her sex and her spine to the back of her neck.

She didn’t even have to worry that anyone would see.


End file.
